Change of Opinion
by miyelo
Summary: First meeting between Zoey and the other survivors. Possibly more later.
1. Chapter 1

OPINION

She saw that strange sign over the metal door straight ahead of her and it gave her the last bit of hope to run just a little bit faster. She was half-blind with tears and her breath ripped in and out of her lungs with her terror. She had just watched her best friend ripped apart by that thing with the razor claws. The only reason she was alive right now was that it had been occupied long enough with its killing that she had a chance to run. And she had, like the devil himself was chasing her. Guilt ate at her and with every step; she tried to convince herself there was nothing she could do to save her friend.

"Anybody in there?" she yelled as she approached. There was a small opening in the upper part of the door covered only with bars. She prayed fervently that someone was in there and would hear.

What if it was locked? She could hear the creature behind her but wouldn't dare pause to look over her shoulder.

"Please!" she cried. "Can somebody hear me? Please open the door! Please let me in!"

Zoey had only long enough to hit the door and slam her fist against it once before the long tentacle-like tongue wrapped itself around her waist and began to drag her away. She twisted and turned and tried to tear herself free but could not. All she could do was scream as it pulled her to certain death.

Blackness crept in at the corners of her eyes and she wasn't sure if it was because of how much she screamed or how tight the thing held her.

Finally, the door in front of her opened. A huge man in jeans and a black leather vest appeared in the doorway. As he leveled the shotgun in her direction, two thoughts flickered through her mind.

"Didn't all those tattoos hurt?" and "Why is he about to shoot me?" She closed her eyes tightly, thinking maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

The blast sounded and she felt the pellets whiz past her face. The thing fell away from her, its hold dropping like water. Zoey dropped to her knees, gasping for breath.

"Well, hell," the man shouted, "Don't just sit there, get up!" He had rushed to her and she felt a huge strong hand grip her shoulder painfully and lift her to her feet.

Another man had stepped out of the room and covered their approach as the biker dragged her to the door.

Once at the room, he shoved her roughly inside. She sprawled on the filthy floor as the iron door clanged shut behind her.

"You're gonna have to do much better than that if you want to live past tomorrow," he growled with contempt, dropping into an old recliner and reaching for the warm beer he'd set down when they first heard her scream.

"Take it easy, Francis," the old man in Vietnam-era fatigues told him. "This is obviously new to her."

The older man, in his mid-60's, was grizzled and buzz-cut, clearly ex-military. He knelt down beside Zoey, looking her over for injuries.

"I'm Bill," he said mildly. "You seem well enough. What's your name?" He stood, his old knees creaking, and offered her a hand up.

Her breathing was returning to normal but her whole body still shook with emotion. "My name's Zoey," she whispered.

The third man in the room, who she had not noticed before, walked up to join them. He was a slender black man, clearly a mild-mannered businessman in his former life.

"I'm Louis," he actually reached to shake her hand. Everything seemed to move slowly, surreally. She found herself accepting it and shaking.

"Your rescuer is Francis," Bill nodded towards the big man in the chair, "But sadly, he was born without manners."

Zoey spared him a quiet and hopeful glance but was rewarded only with a sneer. She quickly looked away.

"You lost your weapons?" Louis asked.

"Weapons?" she turned and looked blankly as if she hadn't understood him.

"Gun? Knife?" he continued.

She didn't answer.

Bill chuckled. "Ball bat? Crowbar?"

From across the room, Francis laughed cruelly. "Ipod? Nail polish?"

The others laughed too, but theirs was not mocking.

"Where did you come from, hon?" Bill inquired.

"The university," she answered.

"Alone?"  
"My roommate and I started out together, but…" Zoey's voice cracked as the guilt hit her again. "One of those white things with the claws got her."

"That's five or six miles from here," Louis observed. "How long have you been moving?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. We left this morning sometime, just after the sun came up. We went really slow because we were trying to avoid any of them."

Bill sat back and whistled. "You must walk like a cat. But that won't work for long, I'm afraid, as your unfortunate friend must have found out."

Zoey turned her face away, tears threatening. Bill felt pity for the young girl but didn't offer her any further comfort. He was glad she'd stumbled onto them but she was going to have to get a lot tougher very quickly.

"Have a seat, Zoey," he told her. "We need to talk."

Wiping her eyes discreetly, she turned back to look for a suitable place to sit. Inwardly, she was thankful for someone to tell her what to do. She just hoped these seemingly very capable men wouldn't leave her as a burden that might slow them down.

Louis had moved over to a counter where he was making coffee. Bill sat on one end of a ratty sofa, which left her to take the opposite end, within arm's length of the one they called Francis.

"Where are you from?" Bill asked.

"Originally from Georgia. I just came to school up here."

"Thought I recognized the accent," he said absently. "From the suburbs or the country?"

She shrugged again. "About halfway between, I guess."

"Then it's possible you have some knowledge of firearms?" It was a question, not a statement.

"I used to go shooting with my daddy when I was younger. We set up cans and bottles but he always loaded the guns and cleaned them later."

"At least it's a start," Francis mumbled, looking disinterested but obviously paying attention.

"What did you fire?" Bill continued.

"Pistols, a rifle, an old shotgun."

"Did you have problems with any of the recoil?" She didn't look any bigger than a 14 year old to him.

Zoey smiled sadly as she recalled the first few times she'd gone shooting with her father. He warned her about the recoil and when it was her turn, he'd stood behind her and she leaned safely against him.

Was he dead now too? Like the rest of the world? She shook her head to dislodge those thoughts. Now was not the time. She hoped there would never be the time to think about that.

"I can handle smaller ones," she held up her hands. They were very small, like the rest of her.

"There's some stuff in the corner over there, looks like the military left it for people just like us." He gestured in the direction where Louis stood. "See if there's anything you can use."

Louis put his Styrofoam cup on the counter and moved to help her. "Want some?" he motioned towards the coffee.

"I would like some water, if there's any," she asked hopefully.

"You're in luck. This place is stocked." He opened a mini-fridge and pulled out a decently cool bottle. Zoey smiled her thanks and downed half of it in the first gulp.

As they dug through a pile of firearms and ammo, she heard Bill and Francis talking quietly on the other side of the room but she couldn't understand what they were saying. She looked over her shoulder and saw the big man staring at her. She withered quickly and looked away. Was he telling Bill he didn't want her to stay with them?

"Don't let him get to you," Louis whispered conspiratorially. "He's loud and obnoxious but really a decent guy. He acts like he can't stand me either but he's saved my life more than once."

"That's good, I guess," she said. "I just feel helpless because I don't know this survival stuff like you guys do."

"Ha!" he laughed, "Last week I was an accounting manager and had never held a gun before in my life. You're a step ahead of me. They taught me too."

This gave her a feeling of relief. At least they were willing.

A few minutes later, she went back to the sofa and sat, holding two semi-automatic pistols and two boxes of ammo.

"Two?" Bill questioned. "Backup?"

Her customary shrug. "I'm ambidextrous."

He looked impressed. "Francis uses two sometimes." Francis didn't bother looking impressed.

Bill drilled her on loading and quickly reloading and they found a few extra magazines. Some deeper scrounging uncovered a backpack to carry everything in. The guns, she tucked into her waistband, hoping she wouldn't get scared and accidentally shoot herself.

"One more thing," Francis added, actually standing and involving himself. "C'mere." He moved to the door they'd come in. She reluctantly followed and stopped a few feet away.

"Closer," he ordered, reaching out to pull her roughly to the door. "Draw a gun."

She did, feeling almost ridiculous, like playing cops and robbers.

"Hey!" he yelled out through the bars. "Yo! Shit for brains! Come get us!"

He was rewarded a few minutes later when a small group of the rabid infected came crashing mindlessly against the door. Zoey jerked out of his grip and jumped back.

"Kill them," he ordered. "You need the practice." He stepped out of the way.

Louis sighed and turned away. It was ugly but probably necessary.

Zoey turned to look at Francis, her eyes wide with shock. She looked from him back to the small horde trying to reach through to grab her. Their faces were different shades of black and green or pale white; their eyes were milky and sightless or bloody and insane. The smell they gave off was of death itself, decay and molder.

"But…" she stammered. They were still people. Despite everyone calling them zombies, they had not died yet, they were just diseased and dying. But they were living human beings.

"They're trying to kill you, girl!" he shouted into her face. "They'd just as soon eat you as rip your head off." For emphasis, he whipped out a huge handgun and fired a single shot at one of the closest females. Her head disintegrated in blood, bone, and pink clumps.

Zoey screamed as it splattered on them both. Francis didn't even seem to notice. She tried to turn and dart away but he grabbed her arm and dragged her back, putting her between his huge body and the door, just out of reach of the clawing hands. He put his own strong hands on each of her shoulders and his face down next to her ear. She could feel his hot breath on her neck.

"You have five seconds to start shooting or I will shoot you and save you a horrible death at their hands," he whispered. He actually lifted up her arm that held her gun and pointed it out the window.

At the edge of panic, she wasn't sure which one she was most afraid of, but she shook so bad she thought she might drop the pistol.

"Fire," he whispered again.

She forced herself to put pressure on the trigger but at the last moment, she clenched her eyes tightly shut.

"Fire!" he yelled and she did, the hair trigger firing three rounds.

Zoey opened her eyes and saw two of them slumped against the door – one halfway decapitated and the other with a hole through its head that she could see through.

The pistol fell from her hand and she unconsciously pressed against the wall behind her. It didn't even register that the wall was Francis.

"Good girl," he whispered, softer now so that no one else could hear. "Pick up the gun and I'll show you how to clean it." He pushed her up to stand on her own feet and walked back to his recliner.

"Wasn't that a little harsh?" Bill asked him.

"She did it," the biker answered, unaffected.

"She probably imagined she was shooting you, asshole," he laughed.

Francis shrugged. "Whatever works."

Zoey stood frozen for several moments looking in, then out, then into the room again. She wanted to scream, or cry, or at the very least to throw up, but she realized this had been a test. She gritted her teeth until she tasted blood but she refused to let Francis see her cry. Taking an impossibly long breath, she bent over and retrieved the gun. She walked stiffly back to her seat, swallowed hard, and said, "Okay."

That gesture changed Francis' opinion about this little girl. He had at first been surprised that she had not fainted, but then to show this much self-control…she was okay in his book.

5


	2. Chapter 2

Please excuse the first posting of Chapter Two. I just find it easier to use the name of a character that I'm familiar with and I forgot to find and replace with Zoey.

Sorry! Fixed now.

Chapter Two

As Zoey listened to Francis instruct her in the cleaning and maintenance of her weapon, she became aware of a knot that had begun to twist up tight inside her. The more it grew, the less she could see past it to her life before the infection. She thought she'd had it so bad – the worst thing she had to do then was cram for the occasional exam. She thought it had been so bad to learn how to cook her own food at the end of the month when she came up short on her allowance from Daddy, or having to do her own laundry and fading all her whites to pink. How could she have been so blind?

Through the fog, she heard Francis say, "Don't use so much that it gums up the works…" She wiped more carefully with the oily rag.

Inside her head, his other words repeated. "They might not be zombies but they are the walking dead. They're dying in slow agony – you're doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery."

The knot twisted tighter and she clutched at it. She would do that to stay alive. She would learn everything they could teach her and if it made her callous, so be it. She would shoot and kill and not look back, but she would still be alive.

Francis looked puzzled for a moment as she bit her bottom lip and her brows came together. It changed the whole little girl look to something cold and harsh. She rubbed the gun metal vigorously, lost in concentration. He looked over at Bill who had been watching and listening, a question in his frown.

Bill had seen it too, like a wall coming up in Zoey. He didn't want to conjecture yet, so he just shrugged.

After Gun Care 101, the guys moved on to Zombie 101, going into detail about what kinds they had encountered and how best to kill them. Zoey felt particularly afraid of the ones they were calling witches – she supposed it was because of what had happened to her friend. Sad, pale, emaciated, full of so much rage that they didn't stop until their victim was on the ground, cut into ribbons.

"It's getting late," Bill eventually pointed out. "We should get moving."

Light was failing outside. Zoey had assumed they would stay here for the night.

"The disease or whatever it is," Louis explained, "Affects their eyesight, and it's especially bad in dim light. You can sneak right by some of them at night, if you're quiet and don't flash a light."

Bill stood before a roughly-drawn diagram on one wall. She stuck her pistols in her waistband and went to stand by him, wondering what he was looking at.

"What is it?" she asked, recognizing some kind of map.

"It seems like there are a series of these safe rooms throughout the city. The military built them quickly and keep them stocked and they are at fairly regular intervals out to the coast. Supposedly they have ships out there to take the survivors into open water until the infection is under control."

Pointing to the wall, he said, "It seems to be about twenty-five blocks east," he dragged his finger a short distance then stopped it at another point.

"We can make twenty-five blocks tonight, right?" he asked the others.

"Uh…" Louis began to protest.

"Not a problem," Francis smiled, "When do we start?"

Bill looked down at Zoey. She sighed and shrugged.

It came as no surprise to Louis that he was completely ignored as usual. He thought Zoey might be an ally against the insane biker, but that didn't seem to be happening.

"Now," Bill answered.

After Francis had provoked the horde earlier, the ones they didn't kill had eventually wandered away. The survivors left the safe room as quietly as they could and crept along for half an hour in the growing darkness.

Inevitably, the peace didn't last. A lone man lurched out from between two parked cars and one of Bill's stray rounds struck a nearby SUV, bringing the alarm to life. Even over the earsplitting bleat, they could hear the sound of running feet and shouts.

"Against the wall!" Bill yelled, backing into the alcove of an upscale clothing store. The others lined up next to him; Zoey found herself between Bill and Francis.

Just as the horde charged them, Francis smiled down at her ferally.

"Don't shoot me!" he warned, then turned and unloaded into the first wave.

Zoey gritted her teeth and began to fire too. After the first dozen or so, she realized that she no longer felt any remorse. She started to count the bodies to distract herself but soon couldn't keep up.

By the time the four of them stood alone again in a pile of steaming flesh, Zoey was panting so hard that she had begun to see flickering spots before her eyes.

Francis slapped her hard on the back. "You did good kid."

Bill recognized her distress and said, "Breathe. Slow."

She tried but it was so hard to push down the urge to protect herself now, like a tide had come over her. Her eyes darted back and forth as if still seeking targets. The muscles in her arms and shoulders cramped from the adrenaline that still pumped through them.

As they walked, she concentrated on her breath, trying to make it slower with each footstep. The guys reviewed their kills – it seemed to help them put it at a distance, but even though Bill and Louis tried to pull Zoey into the conversation, she was miles away.

"It's around here somewhere," Bill said a quarter of an hour later. "See any building numbers?"

Before they found any, however, the sound of distant screams wound through the alleys around them. Echoes made it impossible to tell from which direction they came.

Zoey's eyes grew wide. "What is it?" she asked, turning in a circle to try to locate the source.

"Somebody else is going through what we just went through," Francis answered. "And it doesn't sound like they're doing as good."

"Let's go up," Bill suggested, searching for a fire escape or ladder.

Around a few more corners, they found one – the kind you had to pull down. Francis was tall enough to catch the bottom of it easily.

The sound of running footsteps came from behind them – many many feet.

"Hurry up!" he yelled, grabbing Zoey and boosting her up. Louis followed while Bill turned to cover their escape.

"C'mon!" Francis yelled at him. He was already up the first flight.

"Won't they follow us?" Zoey asked frantically, trying to run up without tripping.

"Counterweights will pull the stairs back up," Louis yelled, passing her on the steps. "They don't think like they did when they were still human."

Francis passed her too as she stood watching the stampede coming into the alley.

"Go!" Bill urged, pushing her ahead.

They paused only long enough to make sure their pursuers couldn't reach them, then started across the rough surface of the roof.

"It should be in that building," Bill pointed to the next one over. They could hear the horde circling the building they were on.

"If they get inside, they could come out up here, couldn't they?" Zoey paused worriedly.

"Yeah," Louis answered, "So come on!"

Bill and Francis had disappeared around some of the large ductwork and they heard Bill shout, "Found it!"

With a glance to make sure Zoey was following, Louis took off at a run.

As she turned the corner, though, she stopped again and just stared. Bill and Francis were on the roof of the adjacent building. Louis was in mid-air, jumping the gap. She felt fear rush through her like ice water.

"I can't jump that!" she cried, her eyes scanning desperately for any other way.

"Yes, you can!" Bill called. "I did it on a bum knee. You can do it."

"C'mon now!" Francis shouted.

She heard a sound behind her and realized the door to the roof was being pounded on from the inside. One glance down showed a river of the infected running through the alley below them. There were no choices.

"C'mon girl!" Bill yelled, "The safe room is just around the corner!"  
"I'm not as tall as you guys!" she tried to keep her voice from cracking. "I can't jump that far!"

"Yes, you can!" Louis encouraged, but Francis interrupted him.

"We're gonna leave your ass unless you jump right now!" he threatened angrily. "Back up and get a running start. I'll catch you."

He'd just told her he would leave her ass and now she was supposed to trust him to save it? Evidently, even by the gloomy streetlight, he saw the doubt on her face.

In a much softer voice, he said, "I promise, Zoey. I won't let you fall."

Whether it was that reassurance or the sound of wood splitting behind her, she was stirred to motion. She backed up twenty feet and just as the door gave way, she began to sprint as fast as she could. At the edge of the roof, she leaped, screaming the whole time, her eyes shut tight.

Despite her time in college, she had no clue what that much adrenaline could make a body do. She flew across the gap and crashed into Francis. He said later that it felt like he'd been hit by a bus. He tumbled backwards and Zoey found herself sprawled on top of him. But his arms were securely around her.

"See?" he said, grinning up at her.

For that one moment, she felt something she thought she would never feel again. Safe. It surprised her so much that she didn't know what to do.

"Get a room, people," Bill mumbled. He limped around the corner. Louis laughed and followed.

There was a part of her that didn't want to move, didn't want to go back to the coldness she was cultivating inside. She felt like an animal caught in headlights and her head spun.

The sound of a hunter's snarl brought her back. She pushed herself up and Francis did the same, dusting himself off.

"Let's go," he grumbled, avoiding her eyes as much as she was avoiding his.


End file.
